


Parties are for Entertaining

by ekbelfield



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, plot for the sake of porn, sort of bratva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5174690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekbelfield/pseuds/ekbelfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The one thing that made the formal wear worth it, though, was this moment.  The moment when Oliver looked up at her from the bottom of the stairs, his eyes sweeping over her figure in a way that made her shiver and flush at the same time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parties are for Entertaining

**Author's Note:**

> I love Bratva!Oliver fics. This is light on the Bratva elements, I just needed a good setting for this scenario and Bratva!Oliver seems to best embody these characteristics.
> 
> I'm working on another story and I got stuck, so I wrote this to hopefully unstick me. I hope you all like it!

Felicity descended the stairs at Queen Manner, one hand on the railing, the other smoothing her dress down nervously. The blue silk dress hugged her curves, and she hoped tonight it would be enough to get the job done. Felicity hated the Bratva dinner parties that required formal wear, this one a birthday party for someone-or-other, she didn’t really know. She far preferred the Bratva events that only included Oliver’s closest associates, so she could wear her glasses and panda flats and drink as much wine as she pleased.

The one thing that made the formal wear worth it, though, was this moment. The moment when Oliver looked up at her from the bottom of the stairs, his eyes sweeping over her figure in a way that made her shiver and flush at the same time. Oliver was always so stoic, one could even go as far as to call him brooding, but in this moment Felicity could see the heat under his gaze.

She could hear Oliver mumbling under his breath, in Russian probably, but when Felicity looked at him questioningly, he only said “Mrs. Queen”. Being addressed as his wife still made her shiver with delight, even after all this time. She returned with “Mr. Queen”, dipping her head in acknowledgement.

When Felicity reached the bottom of the stairs, Oliver extended a hand, grasping hers and bending slightly while pulling it to his lips, where he pressed a gentle kiss on the back of her palm. Felicity relished the contact, knowing it would be the last of the night, before Oliver had to see to his obligations as a Bratva captain, and Felicity had to see to hers as the hostess of the evening. Oliver whispered some Russian words in her ear, but he knew she wouldn’t understand them, so she only smiled exasperatedly at him.

Oliver glanced over Felicity’s body one last time, before offering her his arm and escorting her into the ballroom. They made their entrance together before splitting up, Oliver going to drink vodka with his brothers in arms, while Felicity moved toward the bar to get a glass of wine and entertain the wives.

About an hour had passed, Felicity was starting to feel the buzz from the delicious, undoubtedly expensive, wine, when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Oh, hello Mr. Richardson, I wasn’t expecting you here tonight.” Felicity paused in her conversation with Lyla to address the man who had captured her attention.

“Mrs. Queen, may I have a dance?” He was barely able to hide his disgust at having to address her by her married name. Felicity shared a glance with Lyla, before placing her wine glass on the bar and placing her hand in Mr. Richardson’s. 

Lyla shifted uncomfortably, glancing at her own husband, in a deep conversation with Oliver. “Felicity, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Felicity only laughed. “If my husband isn’t going to pay attention to me, I might as well dance with someone who will.” Lyla’s mouth fell open in shock as Felicity was whisked away to the dance floor.

Mr. Richardson was an attractive man, though not as attractive as Felicity’s husband. He was tall, with dirty blond hair and deep brown eyes. He pulled Felicity into his embrace at the center of the dance floor, and Felicity wound her hands around his neck. Felicity smiled up at him as a slow waltz played, not daring to look over at her husband.

“So, Mrs. Queen. How are you enjoying the party?” If this was Richardson’s idea of small talk, she was going to have her work cut out for her.

“Oh, it’s alright, Mr. Richardson. My husband has so many associates to break bread with, it can get a little lonely. There’s only so much gossiping with the wives I can handle, you know?”

Mr. Richardson moved his hands lower down Felicity’s back in sympathy. “I can only imagine, Mrs. Queen. A mind like yours deserves to be used to its full potential.” They revolved slowly for a few moments, Richardson’s hands wandering all the while. Felicity could feel the path they were tracing, and she knew without a doubt that if she didn’t have Oliver’s attention before, she had it now.

“You know, Mrs. Queen, I can offer you something much better than your husband. I’d let you use that beautiful brain to help with the business.” Mr. Richardson smiled down at her, while Felicity tried to maintain a neutral expression.

“Is that so? You know he’d never let me go.” Felicity glanced down, hiding her face as Richardson’s hands groped over her ass, pulling her closer to him so he could whisper in her ear.

“I have a standing reservation at the Grand. Meet there later tonight. 1am. We can discuss an arrangement.” Felicity pulled away to smile up at him demurely.

“You know I can’t leave the house that late without my husband knowing. Can we meet any earlier?” She fluttered her lashes, and pressed her hips forward, feeling that Richardson was rather enjoying having her in his arms.

“I have business to attend to earlier. Perhaps you can leave the party early, as long as we can get something worked out before my meeting at 11.” Felicity smiled triumphantly.

“I’ll come by at 9. That’ll give us an hour to work out an arrangement. And some more time to work out.” Felicity giggled up at Richardson, watching as his eyes widened as she pushed her hips against his again, his hands tightening on her ass.

“Sounds good, Mrs. Queen.” Richardson lifted one of his hands to run a finger down Felicity’s cheek, shocking Felicity with his boldness. Did he not know who her husband was?

“It does indeed, Mr. Richardson. After all, my husband does leave a lot to be desired.” A cough sounded from behind Felicity, and she looked up to see Richardson’s eyes looking wide and scared. Felicity turned in his arms to see the face of her husband.

Oliver’s face was flushed with anger, she could tell by the way his fingers were rubbing together at his side that he was barely in control. She smiled innocently up at him, hoping to diffuse the situation somewhat.

“Oliver! I was just having a lovely chat with Mr. Richardson, he—“ but Oliver cut her off.

“Chat’s over. Dance with me.”

“What? Oliver, you never want to dance…”

“Mrs. Queen!” He said it sharply, his tone sending a shiver down her spine.

“Yes, of course. My apologies Mr. Richardson.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek, whispering “I’ll see you later” before retreating to her husband’s side.

Oliver spun Felicity before pulling her in tight, arms banding about her waist to pull her close, less dancing and more slowly swaying on the dance floor.

“Oliver, people are watching.” Felicity hissed into his shoulder.

“I know.” He whispered huskily, Felicity squirming under his gaze. She tried to shuffle away from him, to put some distance between them, but his arms held her fast. His hands didn’t wander like Richardson’s, but there was more intent behind his hands on her back, which made Felicity flush with desire.

Felicity was about to suggest they find someplace more private, when a bell rang indicating that dinner was to be served. Felicity sighed, half relief, half frustration as Oliver escorted her to the head table. He pulled out her chair, ever the gentleman, before gracefully taking the seat beside her.

It took Felicity about a minute to realize that in pulling out her chair, Oliver had pulled her chair closer to his. Close enough, that he could place his hand on her thigh, just over the blue silk of her dress. The heat from his palm warmed her from the inside out, and Felicity tried not to shift in her seat.

Food was served and Oliver carried on conversation as if nothing was the matter, all the while rubbing his hand along her thigh, up and down, caressing the silk material. Felicity, for her part, was quieter than usual for a dinner party, but most of the other guests attributed it to the scene with Richardson earlier. Every stroke of Oliver’s hand on her thigh was stoking the fire within her, and it was becoming harder and harder to sit still.

When Felicity finally did shift, in an attempt to move away, a glance from Oliver pinned her into place. Gradually, Oliver had rucked the silk up her leg, the tablecloth preserving Felicity’s modesty as his rough palm now stroked her bare skin. His fingers drew swirls on the inside of her thigh, as he regaled the table with stories of past mischief. He had the party in stitches, but Felicity was only able to give a strained smile, as his hand teased her relentlessly.

His fingers slipped higher and higher, never quite reaching their destination. The sensitive skin on the inside of Felicity’s thigh was tingling, to say nothing of how her core was beginning to ache for any kind of attention. Felicity was baffled how Oliver could have idle conversation while torturing her. How could he be so unaffected? Felicity huffed her displeasure/frustration/arousal, Oliver only sparing her the slightest glance before spearing the last morsel of food on his plate with his fork and offering it to Felicity.

“Here, try this.” Felicity leaned forward to accept the fork into her mouth, and as she did so Oliver’s fingers disappeared from her thigh. Felicity chewed the mouthful, as Oliver’s thumb reached up to wipe a stray bit of sauce from the corner of her mouth. Felicity swallowed heavily, meeting his eyes, before Oliver cleared his throat and turned away, signaling for dessert to be served.

Felicity sat back in her seat, licking her lips, oblivious to the other occupants of the table. The absence of Oliver’s hand on her thigh for the first time since she sat down was enough for her to gather her bearings. She was about to engage Lyla in conversation, since her friend had been shooting her sympathetic looks all night, when a single scoop of vanilla ice cream was placed in front of her.

Felicity pouted at the slice of pie on Oliver’s plate, before he leaned over and whispered “there are nuts in it”. Felicity was about to protest, but Oliver’s hand returned to her thigh. There was no pretense this time, his fingers moving straight up her thigh and grazing her panties. Felicity hid a gasp behind a cough, reaching for her glass of water as Oliver’s fingers deftly moved over the fabric, damp with the evidence of his torture.

Felicity only stared at the vanilla ice cream slowing turning into a puddle on Oliver’s abandoned dessert plate as his fingers caressed her through her panties. He leaned over, kissing her cheek before leaning up to whisper in her ear.

“I’d rather have you for dessert anyway.” He nipped her earlobe as he pulled away, taking in her wide-eyed appearance. Felicity could only gape at him, mouth opening and closing, before she snapped her mouth shut to keep a moan from escaping as Oliver’s finger pushed the fabric against her slit, creating the friction she’d been needing for the last hour.

Oliver laughed, a deep, sultry sound, before turning to the table to propose a toast. It was the last of his obligations before the dancing began in earnest. Felicity sat, mutely, wine glass in front of her as Oliver praised the brotherhood, his fingers never stopping their dance between her thighs. Felicity gripped the edge of the table in one hand, her knuckles white, as she attempted to hold her wine glass casually with the other.

Oliver raised his glass at the same moment his fingers pushed her panties aside, Felicity’s gasp covered by the clinking of glasses as Oliver’s fingers explored her slit. Felicity gulped her wine in a probably unladylike fashion, but it was the only way to stem the rising tide of her arousal as Oliver downed his shot of vodka, thumb finding her clit.

Felicity slid back from the table abruptly, shimmying her dress back down her thighs. When Lyla looked at her questioningly, she mouthed “bathroom” to her friend, and slipped away from the table, just as the other guests began moving towards the dance floor.

Felicity had the presence of mind to find Richardson in the crowd and wink saucily at him, before slipping out of the ballroom and up the stairs. Felicity made it halfway down the hall before slumping against the wall, head tipped back. She took several deep breaths, eyes closed, until she felt a presence in front of her.

Felicity opened her eyes to see Oliver smirking down at her. Felicity threw her arms around his neck, taking a deep breath and speaking quickly.

“It’s happening tonight. I can’t believe Richardson actually let it slip. The meeting is at 11. He’ll be at the Grand at 9, waiting for me. That gives you about an hour.” Felicity spoke into his chest, arms running up and down his shoulders.

Oliver looked down at her, eyes darkening, before latching his mouth onto her neck.

“Oliver!” Felicity gasped, hands scratching uselessly down his back as she felt a jolt in her already aching core. “Oliver, you have to go!”

“Not yet.” Oliver growled as he dropped to his knees in front of her, hands moving from her calves up, dragging her dress with them, the blue silk pooling over his arms.

“Oliver, I did not let that scumbag human trafficker put his hands on me so you could be late to stopping him. You know I had to make him believe I’m an unhappy housewife. Your little display at dinner did not help make that convincing, by the way.” Felicity’s words probably would have packed more punch if her voice hadn’t been weak with desire. Her knees nearly buckled, but Oliver used his hands to pin her hips to the wall, dress rucked up over her hips.

“I think he bought it though.” She continued, breathless and unable to stem the tide of her babbling, or her arousal. “He offered to let me help with his business. He must not know I already do that.”

“Felicity.” Oliver nearly hissed her name, stopping her stream of words as he squeezed her thighs gently with his hands, tucking the skirt of her dress up over her hips and out of the way.

“I’ll stop him, Felicity. I’ve just got something I have to do first.” The smile he gave her was positively wicked as he lowered her panties to the ground and spread her knees. Felicity moaned as his stubble scraped her inner thighs, his mouth moving along her sensitive skin, sensation heightened by the torture he had wrought on her through dinner.

Oliver licked and sucked his way up her thighs, alternating which leg he focused his attention on, his stubble burning a trail. When his mouth reached her slit, Felicity cried out at the pressure. Oliver’s hands pressed her thighs apart, roaming her body, one hand moving to her slit.

Oliver’s tongue lapped at her clit while he dipped a finger into her entrance, the ache Felicity was feeling slightly relieved by his finger pressing inside of her. Felicity’s hands moved to Oliver’s head, her fingers sliding through the hair that was too short to grasp. Felicity groaned as Oliver traced shapes against her clit with his tongue, the sensation quickly becoming overwhelming. She'd spent so long on edge at dinner that she knew it wouldn't be long before she came.

Felicity’s moans grew higher in pitch as she got closer to the edge. Oliver redoubled his efforts, slipping a second finger inside of her and curling them, hitting a spot that made Felicity keen, her inner walls fluttering as she grew closer and closer and then…

Oliver pulled back, dropping the silk of Felicity’s dress back into place. He stood up, pressing a gentle kiss to Felicity’s panting lips. Felicity could taste herself in the kiss, her confusion growing. Felicity was wound tighter than a bowstring, ready to snap, but instead of continuing, Oliver was already halfway down the hall.

“Oliver, what?” Felicity couldn’t string together a more complex question than that in her current state, and Oliver’s smirk back at her told her he knew it.

“I’m leaving you a lot to be desired.”


End file.
